


Why didn’t you invite me?

by Toinette93



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst and Feels, Birthday Party, Freddie is very confused, Gen, Ghost!Freddie, Hugs, Maybe even some humour, Not Beta Read, Prompt Fill, Protective Roger Taylor (Queen), Roger Taylor (Queen) Is a Good Friend, Scrabble, September 5th 1992, sad!Brian May John Deacon and Roger Taylor, some fluff I think, tea and biscuits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:15:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23637424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toinette93/pseuds/Toinette93
Summary: The alarm clock displayed the date: September, 5th 1992. It was his birthday. What was he doing in an empty room at Roger’s on the afternoon of his birthday, without any memory of how he got there Freddie thought. He should have been at Garden Lodge, preparing a fabulous party. That made no sense.---This is an aswer to a prompt by Jordan. The prompt is there : https://archiveofourown.org/comments/280054135
Relationships: John Deacon & Brian May & Freddie Mercury & Roger Taylor
Comments: 28
Kudos: 49





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone !  
> Welcome to this little fic that I wrote half-accidentally. It's an anwser to a prompt and it just sort of happened. It's all written down. I'm not quite sure it's an adequate answer to the prompt, and I'm not quite sure what it is exactly, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless.  
> Please tell me what you thought in the comment and have a beautiful day/evening.  
> Toinette out.  
> P.S. : here the link to the prompt again https://archiveofourown.org/comments/280054135 I did not quite follow every parts of it but it's still where this story comes from, so thanks, Jordan, for the prompt, and sorry for the liberties I took with it, hope you'll still like it.

Freddie felt weird. He looked around. Where was he? He did not seem to remember how he got here exactly. Wherever here was. The place seemed familiar somehow, but something was wrong about it. He also noticed he was not in any pain. He felt weird, yes, but good. Why did he notice that? Was it unusual? He seemed to remember, intellectually that he had been in pain. Yes, a lot of it, even. But he could not recall the feeling. He stopped trying, lest it returned.

He shook himself. Come on, Freddie, stop gawking and get moving. What kind of drug had he taken, he wondered, to have no remembrance of where he was of why he was there. The dope was generally of better quality than that. He would have to complain to… whoever had supplied it to him. He could not remember that either. But for now, he needed to look for clues. And standing silently in the middle of an empty bedroom was no way to go about it. Oh, bedroom. He’d have to check whether the bed was actually empty. If only Jim were there, it would solve a lot of trouble, he’d ask him. If it were someone else, well he’d have to improvise.

The bed was empty. No one seemed to have slept in it at all, potentially in a while. This whole room was very tidy, and very tastefully decorated, even if it was a bit bland and modern for his taste. Designer room. That reminded him of someone. He smiled, and went to the window, hoping to recognize the view. Now, he would know that view anywhere. It was Roger’s back garden. He was in Roger’s home. Probably in the guest-room. The whole place was oddly quiet. No children yelling. No music, no singing no drums. No noisy sex. Not even the quiet noise of conversation. Freddie looked at the clock radio on the nightstand. 5 p.m. It was really odd. What was he doing in the end of the afternoon, in a room he had quite clearly not slept in, with no memory of how he had gotten there? He did not feel tired. Or hungry. He did not even feel like taking a piss. But he was getting bored. He was going to go down and make himself a cup of tea, see if anybody was in there. And when Roger showed up, he’d ask him what he was doing here. Knowing he was at Roger’s had largely calmed his worries. Rog would make fun of him, of course but at least, here, he was safe.

Before he left the room, Freddie glanced at the clock-radio again. It was now displaying the date. September, 5th 1992\. The year seemed… wrong somehow. Freddie pushed the feeling aside, annoyed at himself. How could a year be wrong? He was not making any sense. What was more important was that it was his birthday. What was he doing at Roger’s on the afternoon of his birthday. He should have been at Garden Lodge, preparing a fabulous party. Had they done a pre-party at Roger’s the night before, one so wild that he had somehow wandered into an empty room and forgotten all about it for the whole day? All without showing any symptoms of a hangover. This wasn’t making any sense.

Freddie walked out of the room, too distracted to notice he had just walked right through a closed door. He made his way down the stairs. As he got to the living room, he started hearing Roger’s voice, talking softly on the phone. Freddie stopped at the entrance. Roger was talking to Brian. At least the grouchy tone of voice Roger was using to talk to him was familiar. Those two never seemed to agree on anything. Freddie noticed Roger looked a bit tired, a bit tense. Freddie listened to the half of the conversation he could hear, not quite knowing why.

“You’d better be there for dinner, mate. I even made a vegetarian meal for you.”

"…"

“Well, yeah, ordered takeout, but still. That weird Chinese rice with omelet you seem to like, for whatever reason. So you’d better be there.”

"…"

“Hurry and get dressed, then, Bri. Anyway, you don’t have much of a choice. John has agreed to pick you up.”

"…"

“No I did not threaten him wit anything, he agreed to come all on his own”

"…"

“And John will be there, I promise you, I got Ronnie to swear to me he would drop him there on time. And you know she’s reliable. I’m one cunning bastard, I know.”

"…"

“I know it’ll be weird, without Fred and all, we should be getting ready for one crazy party at Garden Lodge right now. With a few gorgeous stripper thrown into the mix, and enough vodka tonics to get you blabbing about badgers. But there will be the three of us, and I have quite a bit to drink here as well. Anyhow, none of us should be alone on a day like this.”

Roger had said that last sentence a bit softer, Freddie had barely heard it. Roger hung up soon after. Freddie was vey confused. Why were his three bandmates planning to have his own birthday party without him? And why did they seem so sad? Had they had a major fallout that he could not remember? Did they hate him now? Were they alright? For Roger to sound so concerned, to be so soft spoken, especially with Brian, something had to be seriously wrong. And the drummer did not sound like he was aware Freddie was in his house, or he hid it very well. The singer decided to observe for a bit longer before making his presence known. He looked at Roger who seemed to be fidgeting and looking at the clock. Freddie did not know what to think.


	2. Chapter 2

Freddie had kept on looking at Roger, and the more he looked at him, the more puzzled he got. Roger had spent a while looking around the house, checking the alcohol supplies and the content of the fridge. Then he had sat down and started reading. But he seemed nervous, sad even. Roger did not get sad, not often anyway. He got angry, yes, but he was not prone to being maudlin. Not unless something was truly wrong. It was also clear by now he had no idea Freddie was there.

More than once, the singer had wanted to go up to Roger and ask him what was going on, but something had stopped him. That did not make any sense either. Roger was one of his closest friends. But right there and then he could not bring himself to do it, and he was filled with a mounting sense of dread.

Food was delivered, and a few minutes later, the doorbell rang again. Freddie looked at Roger, as he went to open the door. John and Brian hurried inside, the guitarist’s hair dripping from the rain. He had apparently forgotten to bring an umbrella.

***

Brian squeezed the water out of his hair and walked in Roger’s living room, John just behind him. He greeted his friend with a quick nod, and the drummer squeezed his shoulder. Brian could see the air of concern on his friend’s face, and he tried to pull himself together, giving a bright smile. He was used to interviews, he was quite adept at giving smiles even when he was feeling down. Roger had known him for so long – shit more than two decades now – that it was unlikely to work. And indeed it did not. Roger took his soaked coat and pushed him towards the living room. Besides it seemed he was pretty bad at hiding whatever he was feeling today – part of the problem being that he was not sure what he was feeling exactly – because even John had been careful around around him. That almost never happened. It’s not that John did not care, really not. It’s just that he tended to have rather unusual ways to show affection. Like throwing peanuts at his head for example. He was not doing anything of the sort at the moment. Brian hoped John was alright. The day was a weird one, for all of them.

He was not even doing all that bad, most of the time. Given all the shit he had recently gone through he was doing reasonably well. At least that’s what everyone told him. He was not so sure, especially on a day like this. He was keeping his head over water, sure, but often not by much. And it was exhausting. Some days, that barely left him enough strength to get out of bed and do what he needed to do for the day. He still managed, so far. Today had been rough. Had Roger not called, he might not have gotten up at all. But he still managed. And truly, he was thankful to the drummer for having organized this, and having known to call him. And to John for having come to pick him up and said nothing about his dishevelled state. Although he suspected John was not at his best either and only holding up as well as he was thanks to and for Ronnie and the children. Brian did not exactly have a family life to keep him going these days. Still, the guitarist was glad to be here. Being with the two people who best understood his situation, and who knew him so well was exactly what he needed. And provided there was enough good music and alcohol – two things he could definitely count on Roger for – it might even become an enjoyable night.

***

There they were, thought John. They were going to celebrate Freddie’s birthday without him. He should have been 46 but he would never get to be that old. What should have been a man solving a mid-life crisis was now a dead one, and John would never get to see him again in this life. He missed him. Almost everyday, but rarely as much as he did today. And he had disliked the large parties Freddie organized, more often than not. The only way he would get through them, being around that many people, people he did not know, people that always wanted something from him was often to get blackout drunk. But what wouldn’t he give now for these jitters, for one of their arguments, for his annoyance at one of the singer’s tantrums. And he would give even more for the nights and days spent crafting musics, for the connection during shows, for the quiet time just drinking or joking around, together. But that would never happen again, none of it, and every single time he spent time with the other two or played music it hit him again. It did not seem to be getting any easier. Tonight though, however painful it was, being with Roger and Brian felt right.

He walked behind the guitarist and the drummer and they got to the living room. Roger got out drinks and food and put on some music. Not their own. The discussion had trouble really starting.

***

Roger got the food and drinks out, put some music on and gave a smile. He would not let this evening get entirely gloomy. It was Freddie’s birthday and it was going to be a party. Maybe with a hard-fought, drunk scrabble-match thrown in the mix at some point, he was not yet decided, but a party at any rate. Calm sadness just was not Freddie’s style. Seemed like Roger would need to make the frenzy happen, because the two others seemed to be quite intent on looking at their shoes all night without talking much. But Roger had a plan. With John it should be easy enough, even if the bassist looked, even more than ever, like a middle-class dad who had accidentally fallen into the Rock’n Roll lifestyle. Get a few glasses of alcohol in him, put some disco on – yes Roger was even ready to go that far – and that should get him dancing. Later, that might even get him talking, and reminiscing, and that would do him good.

Hopefully, it might also annoy Brian enough to get him out of the funk he was clearly in, because the usually over-talkative guitarist had uttered maybe three words since he had gotten in there. Alcohol was a dangerous idea with Brian, sometimes it produced awesome guitar solos, and sometimes it just got him sadder. Which would clearly be counterproductive right now. However, if he could get him to argue with John about music, they might soon get lost in a debate on guitar-string qualities, and then a party would emerge from there. And as a last resort, Roger thought he could always ask about the stars or make a comment about hunting. But he’d rather not. Being yelled at was not exactly his number one choice, and Brian would most likely feel guilty afterwards.

He himself should have felt sad today. And he missed Freddie, of course he did. He had shed his fair share of tears in the privacy of his own home, and a day hardly went by without thinking about him. He had known him for twenty years of his life, and he had been one of the most important people in it all along. That friendship had lasted longer that any of their marriages. Even if John and Ronnie’s would certainly outlast it it time. But today, Roger was not sad, not really. He was remembering the good times, the wonderful days of his life spent along that rotter Freddie. He worried for his friends that he felt were not as strong as he was, and had gone through stuff he did not have to deal with. He was going to make sure they were ok tonight. He was going to take care of them. On top of everything, he was still angry. At John, still a bit, for not always having been there, and at Brian for being his usual annoying self, and at the press for how they had treated Freddie before and after he died. At Freddie for being dead, for having left them to deal with the whole mess. But mostly at the world for not caring about AIDS, because it was just homosexuals, and who gives a fuck about those perverts, they deserve it, it’s a punishment for their sins. He could hear them, those sanctimonious assholes who preached about the sanctity of life but forgot all about it when it was the life of people they disapproved of. He could have punched a lot of people in the face. And oh, he so wished he could have saved Freddie, from that sickness, and from all the hatred he’d had to deal with. Sometimes he wondered if he could have done more But tonight, he would enjoy himself, remember his dead friend with fondness, and get the other two tossers to relax a little. That sounded like a good plan, he thought, as he opened a good bottle of wine.

***

Freddie was looking at his bandmates, and at how drawn and sad they all looked. They really seemed to have been through a lot. And though Freddie was still a bit angry at them for not inviting him at his own birthday party, and still felt inexplicably nervous at the idea of talking to them, he decided he’d had enough. He would walk in the room, and ask them what was going on. Hopefully, things would clear up quickly, and they could have a nice evening together even if the four of them really was not many people to make a party with. They could had least have invited wives, girlfriends and Jim! They apparently did not know how to make a decent party without him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people,
> 
> I've been really suprised at how many people have put a kudo on this in such a short time. Little gen-fic writing me in not used to getting attention! Thank you so much to all of you for this. 
> 
> I've been kinda nervous about posting this chapter, I hope it does not come off as disrespectful or anything of the sort. This is just a fictional version of these characters, I obviously have no idea how the real members of Queen dealt with losing Freddie. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy it and tell me what you thought in the comments. 
> 
> Take care
> 
> Toinette out.


	3. Chapter 3

The meal was well on its way to being eaten. Brian, smelling the Chinese food he liked so much had suddenly noticed he was really hungry, and had not eaten all day. He was therefore not participating much in the conversation, much too busy wolfing down the omelet. Not even John mocking him for his very intent interest in his food had stopped him, and so the conversation rolled mostly between John and Roger, Brian uncharacteristically occasionally nodding. Well, what it meant that, for the most part, Roger talked. He had seen the latest instalment of the Alien series and was discussing the film qualities, while John mercilessly pointed plot-holes. Brian, who had not yet seen it, nodded and gave his opinion whenever John touched questions of scientific inaccuracies.

Suddenly, John, who was facing the door while Brian and Roger currently had their back to it got up, making his glass fall from the table. He was looking straight at the door, and had gone white as a sheet. Roger reacted first and, slowly getting up as well, he grabbed his friend’s arm:

“Hey, Deacs, are you ok, what’s wrong? What’s going on? Are you in pain?”

Roger was looking at his friend, searching signs of illness. He hoped John wasn’t having a stroke or something, oh god, he did not want to have to lose someone again. Not now. Roger was desperately trying to remember his more than 20-years old basic medical training. And although his arguably limited and antiquated medical knowledge did not seem to find anything wrong with John – he was breathing, conscious, he did not look like he was unable to move part of his body or his face – the bassist seemed to be unable to talk, and kept pointing towards the door. Brian reacted first, turned around, and also slowly got up, gulping down a last piece of omelet. He had apparently lost the power of speech too and just tugged at Roger’s sleeve turning him around. Stopping his desperate examination of their bassist, Roger looked and there was Freddie on the other side of the room, who seemed completely flabbergasted by the others’ reaction. He also looked perfectly healthy, like he was before that awful illness had eaten at him bit by bit, pround moustache on his upper lip. He also definitely looked confused more than anything. Then he waved a little and said: “Hi.”

***

For a while, no one moved. Freddie was starting to get really worried. Why where his friends reacting to him like they had seen a ghost? Before that particular idea could have gone around his mind and be pushed to its conclusion, Brian moved. He did not say anything, just came up to him and took him in his arms. Brian immediately noticed that although he did have something warm, and solid in his arm it did not quite feel normal. There was something ethereal about Freddie. The guitarist refused to wonder what this was about. He’d ask questions later. For now, he squeezed tighter and tried very hard and rather unsuccessfully not to cry.

Freddie, still very much unsure what was going on awkwardly put his hands around Brian who was still not saying anything particularly coherent and held him tight, asking:

“Brian, what’s wrong, dear, what’s going on?”

He did not get any answer and so reverted to just saying

“There, there love, you’re okay, I’m here”, these last few words apparently making things even worse.

He looked to the others for an explanation, and for help, but before he could get any he got an armful of John hurled his way by Roger, and he had to pay attention so that the bassist would not go right through him. John put his head on his chest, apparently trying to listen to a heartbeat Freddie suddenly noticed he did not seem to have. Was he…? Then, as he was trying to think, a very angry looking Roger walked towards him, stopped right in front of him and asked:

“Why the fuck did you die, you tosser?”

By the sound of his voice, Freddie was pretty sure that, behind the eternal sunglasses, Roger was crying. Then a third pair of arms, particularly strong ones, trained by years of drumming encircled him and the two others and squeezed tight. Pressed as he was between his three bandmate, him, the tinier of the three, should have had trouble breathing, but didn’t. Mainly because he wasn’t. Breathing, that is. As he noticed that, what Roger had just said finally reached his brain, and he suddenly understood something that should have scared the hell out of him but somehow didn’t. Seemed like he had known it all along and just forgotten. There seemed to be quite a bit he had forgotten. He asked his bandmates, just to be sure:

“Am I dead?”

Roger just squeezed him tighter. Freddie was not exactly sure how that was possible. John sobbed and nodded into his shirt. Brian untangled himself from the group hug, took him by the shoulders, and looking directly into his eyes, voice trembling he said:

“Yeah, Fred, yeah you are. Have been for over 9 months now”

“Oh.” said Freddie. Then he added, knowing as he said it that it was probably the least appropriate thing to say: “So that’s why you were celebrating my birthday without me.”

“Yes.” said Brian, and Roger started to laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people, 
> 
> Thank you for reading, hope you like it and that it works. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think. 
> 
> Take care
> 
> Toinette


	4. Chapter 4

Freddie did not know what to say. They had sat back on the sofa, Roger had gotten him a drink but the vodka had gone through him and fallen on the floor. The others were still drinking though. They also would not let him out of their sight, and they were almost constantly in direct physical contact with him. He had wondered if he should ask about his death, but he figured he did not want to know. He knew, in the back of his mind that it had been painful, and he did not want to remember, not really. Besides, even if he was dead, he was fine now, so there was not much point in dwelling on it. The others had tried talking a few times, but they had stopped mid-sentence each time, and now they were not saying much.

“So… so I’m dead. I’m a ghost.” Freddie said.

The other three nodded. There was another long pause. Then Freddie added:

“How are you doing? Are you alright, dears? And how are your families, and my parents and sister? And how are Jim and Mary? And my cats, are they taken care of? Oh, and what have you been doing?”

At first they all started to talk at the same time and it was a bit cacophonous, but then Roger started to talk, then Brian joined in, and finally even John was saying something. And once the news had been given – though, really, he should not have been, Freddie was surprised at how much he was missed, and he worried for his friends – they started talking like they normally would have. A little while later there was a lull again in the discussion. Mostly they had caught up. Nobody had asked Freddie what death was like, they felt like it would have been wrong, somehow. Then Brian asked:

“Fred, do you know for how long you’re going to be able to be here for?”

Brian hated himself for asking, for breaking the magic of the moment that made it feel like Freddie was there again with them, for good, but he needed to know. Freddie was about to answer that he really had no idea, but right there and then he knew:

“Just for tonight, dears, I’m afraid.”

Brian bit his lips and asked the next question.

“And do you think you’ll be able to come back again?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so.”

Brian nodded, he looked helpless. John and Roger exchanged a glance. They looked determined. John got up and came back with a scrabble board.

“If you’re just here for a few hours, Freddie” said Roger “Then we’re going to celebrate your birthday the right way. What would you say to a game of Scrabble.”

“Oh, with pleasure, dears, I’m going to win.”

“Then I’ll need tea” said Brian, and few minutes, he came back with some. He had even found biscuits. They started to play. The game – games cause they were more than one – where hard fought. Brian won more than his share. Freddie proved his masterful knowledge of tile placements by making 84 points with the words bug. Roger appropriately transformed it into bugger, although that did not win all that many points, the second g being a joker tile. But insulting the scrabble board was always fun. They even got to yell at Freddie again “No, for fuck’s sake, Fred, ot is not a bloody word.” They still let him have the point, when he argued that it was a word in the kingdom of the dead, just because they did not want to argue about that. That was arguably a low blow. Freddie liked to win.

They played for quite a long time, but then, even as they tried to stay awake, they all fell asleep, one by one. When they woke up the next day, with a crick in their necks, all tangled into each other on the sofa, fairly hungover, Freddie was not there any more, and they doubted that he had been at all. On the scrabble board however, between Roger’s “roses”, Brian’s “cloud” and John’s “dimple” there was the non-word “ot”, in a place that secured 32 points.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey people !
> 
> This is the end of this little fic, I'm not sure what it qualifies as, as far as tone is concerned, but I hoped you liked it. 
> 
> Thank you everyone who read, kudoed, commented, it's made me real happy !
> 
> Have a nice day and take care
> 
> Toinette out


End file.
